When in Vegas
by Scrappy7082
Summary: AU. Oneshot. Life in Vegas is hard no matter who you are. For Duncan, one of the strip's notorious "porn-slappers", this is especially true. To him, there seems to be no escape from the endless cycle of shame and degradation, but perhaps a new face is all it'll take for him to make a change. DxC.


It was a Friday, around eleven at night, and the strip was crowded—really crowded. People jammed up against one another front to back, some cursing and shoving, others too intoxicated to care, while the smell of smoke and liquor coated everything like a second skin. Despite the late hour, a symphony of chaotic sounds and the bright, neon signs of hotels and clubs enlivened the scene and its denizens as they went about their business.

Standing on a street corner with a burned-out cigarette hanging from his lips, Duncan Evans was one of these night crawlers. His tall figure was cloaked entirely in black, except for a white silhouette of a woman bent over and some words on the front and back of his oversized t-shirt. There was a website name along with a caption that read, "Girls direct to you in twenty minutes." In his hands he held a small stack of cards which he hit together to create the characteristic clapping sound that could be heard intermittently along the whole length of the strip. Every now and then, he stopped to adjust his cigarette.

His expression was bored, not including the occasional smirk he adopted when passerby shot an unpleasant glances his way. It was the best way to rile them up. He knew they disapproved of his "profession" but, at the same time, couldn't care less. It was none of their business. Money was money, and in Vegas, that was especially true.

A low whistle escaped his lips as a group of girls dressed in skimpy tops and mini-skirts stalked past. When the trio looked his way, he winked, eliciting a chorus of giggles and whispers among them. Duncan guessed they were more than a little buzzed judging by how they tripped a bit in their ridiculously high heels, and snickered. He idly offered one of his cards to a man walking by, only to be loudly and immediately refused. The feigned look of horror on his face made Duncan roll his eyes.

Duncan was pretty certain the guy turned him down solely because his wife was with him. If he were alone, he would have taken the photo. To prove his point, when Duncan held out several cards to the next two men, who had no female counterparts, they were practically snatched out of his grasp. The same went for the three guys that followed, as well as for one lone businessman in a grey suit who showed up ten minutes later. Duncan checked his pile; upon finding he had fewer than twenty to go, he grinned and returned to smacking them together with renewed vigor.

If he were to be honest, Duncan wasn't proud of the job he did. "Porn-slapping", as people frequently termed it, was more than a little degrading for everyone involved: himself, the men, the wives and children, the naked girls in the photographs. It seemed harmless enough on the surface; he simply gave a card, and they dialed a number. But in reality, he was an active proponent of the illicit sex trade that had run rampant in the city for more than a few decades.

Personally, Duncan couldn't see the pleasure in any of it. Why pay a girl to sleep with him when the whole process of winning one over was half the fun? He conceded that maybe it was just too difficult for people not as fortunate in the looks department as he. In the long run though, it made no difference to him why they did what they did so long as he got paid. Dirty money was better than no money. It was all that kept him afloat.

At that moment, a particularly rambunctious crowd of young people probably in their early twenties came staggering down the street, each one higher than the last. Duncan grimaced. They were all laughing obnoxiously, clasping half-empty bottles to their chests or inhaling deeply from pipes, obliviously bumping into one another as well as the unfortunate persons surrounding them.

One woman stood out particularly from this unlucky group. Duncan couldn't tell which it was that caught his eye first, the expression or the outfit, but either way he soon found himself staring. Dressed in a stiffly pressed black blazer and pencil skirt, the woman had her nose held high in the air and such a disdainful look on her face that Duncan wanted to burst out laughing. He could tell by her rigid body language that she was trying her hardest to avoid contact with the people around her.

Of course, these attempts were futile. One of the drunken idiots alongside her, cackling uncontrollably at some joke his companion had apparently said, suddenly lost his balance and went careering into her. The force was enough to knock her off her feet, sending her flying forwards.

Right into Duncan.

Though he had been watching the woman for the past minute or so, Duncan had not paid any attention to his own position in the situation, and as a result was totally unprepared for when she collided into him, flattening him against the concrete and making him lose his grip on both his cigarette and remaining cards. They fluttered in the air like snowflakes. After recovering from the shock of the fall, it took Duncan's brain another second to register that the woman who had hit him was now sitting up, rubbing her head and straddling his chest.

A sly smirk slid across his face.

"Well, doll, I'm not usually into the exhibitionist stuff," she froze on top of him, "but for you, I might just make an exception."

"Oh my gosh! Eww!" The woman, who was actually more of a girl now that Duncan saw her up close, twenty-two at most, gasped and scrambled to her feet quickly. She made a big point of thoroughly wiping her hands on the fabric of her skirt as if he was contaminated. In her eyes, Duncan guessed he was.

Her dark eyes flicked up to meet his, full lips curling into an ugly snarl. "Stop _star_ _ing_ at me like that." His smirk only continued to grow. "I said _stop_ it!"

"I'm sorry, darling. I can't help it." Still lying on his back, propped up on his elbows, Duncan's voice lacked any hint of remorse. He batted his eyelashes innocently. "I like looking at pretty things." He then watched in amusement as the girl's tanned face turned an interesting shade of pink, which quickly deepened to red. Duncan raised himself to a squat and began collecting the fallen cards, ignoring her angry stuttering.

"Why, you filthy little-"

She cut herself off abruptly. Duncan glanced up and followed her gaze to where she was staring intently at his shirt, and the pictures in his hands.

"You're one of those porn guys." Duncan cringed; the disgust in her tone was practically tangible. It made him feel like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar or a schoolboy who cheated on his math test. Without understanding why he needed to justify himself to a stranger, he stuffed the cards deep in his pocket, leaning forward and attempting to explain.

"Well, I wouldn't call it that exactly..." he paused at her deadpan look. His mind reeled to come up with an explanation that wouldn't make him sound like a total pervert. "Look, all I do is give out the cards. I don't- I don't _do_ that. I don't pay people to get sex. I'm not into that."

The way her eyes penetrated his own gave Duncan chills. He wasn't aware of how long it lasted, but after a while, she narrowed her gaze and turned to leave, saying matter-of-factly, "I don't believe you."

A feeling close to desperation clenched Duncan's heart, the air flooding out of his lungs. He instinctively reached out to grab her wrist, spinning her back towards him despite the girl's protests. "Hey! Don't touch me, you creep! If you don't let me go _this instant_ , I swear to God I'll-" But as soon as her flaming eyes rested on his face, unnaturally pleading, her struggling ceased.

Looking at the young woman so close to him, Duncan wasn't sure what he wanted to say anymore—he had drawn a blank. So, following a brief, unsatisfactory rummage through his thoughts, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "My name's Duncan." Tinges of pink warmed his pale cheeks. "What's yours?"

The girl hesitated. Duncan felt certain she would refuse to answer, but eventually she opened her mouth. "Courtney," she replied, shaking her head as if she couldn't believe that she was telling him. "It's Courtney."

"Courtney, huh?" Duncan liked the sound of it, how it felt rolling off his tongue. He smiled genuinely down at the girl in front of him and let go of her arm. She made no move to get away. "Well, Courtney, wanna grab a coffee with me?"

That seemed to wake her from her stupor. She took a few steps back, careful not to knock into any of the people walking up the street behind her. Some of her previous attitude resurfaced. "Do you really think just because I told you my name I'd be willing to go out with you?" Sniffing, she didn't wait for an answer. "Besides, it's well past midnight; no cafe would be open at this time anyways."

Duncan cursed himself for making such a blatant error. More than a little crestfallen by the rejection, he nevertheless mustered up as much charm as he had left and held out his hand. "At least let me walk you back to your hotel."

For a minute, Courtney appeared to be contemplating his offer; Duncan sensed a glimmer of hope light within him. Ultimately, however, she shook her head. "No thanks," she declined, "I wouldn't be seen dead with someone wearing _that_." She indicated the racy feminine outline on his shirt. Duncan only smirked.

"I could always take it off." He laughed at her aghast expression, a deep, guttural noise that drew the attention of a couple onlookers. "I'm only kidding. Good night." Courtney gave him a short look of suspicion before shrugging. He could have sworn there was a slight quirk to her lips.

"Good night, Duncan."

Duncan watched as the young woman melted into the crowd, swept up in a multicolored sea of crop tops and dresses and collared shirts, growing incrementally smaller and smaller in his vision. She looked back only once, to send him a blinding smile that literally took his breath away. Soon after she vanished from sight.

Heart racing, Duncan pulled the stack of remaining photo cards from his pocket. Placing them on the ground, he removed his shirt, added it to the pile, and, stealing a bottle of whiskey from the hands of a passerby, soaked the entire thing in alcohol. Then, he used his lighter to set it on fire. The first bright sparks were just leaping, lighting up his bare back when he turned and started to push his own way through the masses.

"Hey, Courtney, wait up!"

* * *

 **A/N:** **I've wanted to do this one for a while. I always thought it'd be interesting, having Duncan and Courtney in Vegas. I really liked writing it, so I hope you enjoyed reading it too. :)**

 **Thanks!**

 **-Scraps**


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